


a drawing is worth a thousand confessions

by HallowedWren



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Immortal/Non-human Jaskier - implied, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Self-Esteem Issues, M/M, Pining Jaskier | Dandelion, artist!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:08:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29600832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallowedWren/pseuds/HallowedWren
Summary: Eventually, Geralt will tire of him. He doesn’t know when it will happen, but he knows it’s a matter ofwhen, notif. If he can’t train himself to be less annoying quickly, he may be cast aside sooner rather than later.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 222
Collections: GRB2020 Team Works





	a drawing is worth a thousand confessions

**Author's Note:**

> I was fortunate enough to be paired with AceMoppet for this bang, and you can find their wonderful art [here](https://acemoppet.tumblr.com/post/643781805655359488/a-drawing-is-worth-a-thousand-confessions-by)

It just started as a way to combat writer’s block. When he can't write, he draws.

It started as whatever popped into his head, but slowly his sketchbook became mostly images of Geralt. Geralt fighting, Geralt sitting in a corner, Geralt riding Roach, Geralt, Geralt, more Geralt.

Gods could he _be_ any more obvious? But Geralt would never see this sketchbook. Jaskier makes absolutely certain of that.

He shifts uncomfortably on the hard ground. Any ideas he’d had earlier aren’t coming back to him. For some reason, the author part of his brain is refusing to work. So he turns to the artist side, which is being much more forgiving.

Of course, it certainly helps to have the most beautiful person he’s ever seen in his line of sight.

Geralt kneels, meditating, on the other side of the roaring fire. Flames dance in the reflection of his medallion and Jaskier begins—yet another—sketch of the iconic wolf’s head. His witcher _does_ resemble a wolf; he’s protective and territorial, quick to growling and suspicion. But some days, he’s more like a kitten than any fierce canine.

Oh he’s intimidating no matter what, certainly, but there’s the days when he purrs (actually _purrs_ , Jaskier still can’t quite believe it!) when he washes his hair. Days when he’ll come back from a hunt and sneakily place a pretty rock on Jaskier's pack. His favorite is when he and Geralt have to share a bed for want of more coin, and he’ll wake up being aggressively cuddled by his favorite witcher.

Just thinking about it, his heart feels like it wants to fly right from his chest.

After finishing the medallion, he switches to the other side of the sketchbook and outlines Geralt on his knees, his palms down and eyes closed. He seems to be as relaxed as he can be, out in the open at night.

Despite himself, he dreads the upcoming winter, when Geralt will leave, heading north to spend the winter with the other Wolves. Jaskier _knows_ winter is really the only time he can truly relax, but he can’t help wondering if this will be the year Geralt finally ditches him. Having the ever-sought-after peace all winter, he will eventually think forward to Jaskier's endless chatter and refuse to put up with it again.

Geralt will never love him, he’s come to terms with that. (not really, but we aren’t thinking about that right now. or ever.) But the thought of Geralt _hating_ him? It hurts worse than any injury any monster could inflict upon him. It burns acridly in his chest, rising up and threatening to choke him.

Of course, Geralt has made it extremely clear that he doesn’t even consider Jaskier a friend, and that he is merely tolerating his presence. But Jaskier thinks (hopes) that’s just a façade to protect his Scary Witcher reputation.

“Scary Witcher” his ass. Geralt is an absolute _sweetheart_ —to the people who deserve it. Just look at how peaceful he is now, meditating on the other side of the fire. Hands resting on his knees, head bowed with perfect posture, his medallion reflecting the fire-light. Jaskier's heart aches with every beat, knowing that this moment is the most he will ever receive. All he will ever deserve.

And that’s fine! (it really isn’t) It’s not like Geralt _owes_ him anything. Jaskier would never even _consider_ trying to touch someone against their will, whether in a more carnal sense or just a simple kiss. Even when he washes Geralt's hair or massages the knots from his back, he keeps his eyes and his hands utterly respectful out of respect for his not-friend—and, you know, basic human decency.

His mind, however…

He does _try_ to keep his mind off hypotheticals but sometimes he finds himself idly day dreaming about a reality where Geralt loves him. Where he can press kisses into his skin after washing his hair or cleaning up a wound. Geralt would probably be so warm, so wonderful to fall asleep next to… But he usually shuts these thoughts down as soon as possible. There really is no reason to torture himself by asking _what ifs._

\--

He's drawing the trees around them one night, trying to capture the beautiful colors of the turning leaves. With their stunning golds, red, and oranges, they paint quite a serene picture. But it’s here that he realizes. Seasons changing means he has to find somewhere to stay where the people won't get too annoyed and throw him out in the middle of winter.

It’s happened before, and he has absolutely no desire to experience it again.

He certainly can’t go back to Lettenhove, his family has long since disowned him. Usually he leaves a few weeks before the first snowfall to establish himself at some court or another. But that also means leaving Geralt.

Every time they part, Jaskier fears it will be the last time he ever sees him. The Path is certainly not kind, and it would only take a split second in battle to cut down the White Wolf. And he might never know for sure what happened to his friend. It’d actually be preferable to convince himself that Geralt had finally tired of his grating presence and is now avoiding him like the plague.

He has no doubt that he’ll eventually be left behind, but the thought sends a spike of pain through his chest every time it crosses his mind.

They’ve just crossed Aedirn into Kaedwen, but if he travels quickly, he might still be able to make it to Oxenfurt before he loses anything to frostbite.

“Where will you stay?”

Jaskier doesn’t know he’d spaced out until Geralt brings him back. “Huh?”

“For the winter.” Geralt doesn’t even look up from his book.

Seriously, he swears that Geralt has some sort of mind-reading ability he’s not cared to mention.

“Um. Well. I haven’t quite figured that out yet. I was thinking I might go stay at Oxenfurt, might see if I can teach a class or two to stay sane.” He chuckles, though he didn’t actually say anything humorous.

Geralt goes completely still, the way he does when he desperately wants to fidget, but the memory of all those beatings in training stays his hands. “Would you- hmm. You could stay at Kaer Morhen.”

He states it as a fact, not a question. As if it’s a _given_ that Jaskier would be completely welcome at his home. Where no human has been for decades, and for very good reason. He isn’t _entirely_ human but that’s not the point. “I would hate to intrude. I know winter is the only time any of you get to completely relax. You're sure the others won't resent you for inviting me?”

Geralt snorts, finally putting the book down only to stare at nothing. “Lambert resents everyone. But no, if you're there as my guest, they’ll accept you.”

When did they switch to future tense? As if it’s already decided that he _will_ be accompanying Geralt. “Have any of the others brought guests for the winter before?”

“Hmm. No. But I’m sure you’ll enjoy being the first human ever invited in good faith.” Geralt glances over at him with a tiny smile that sparks pure joy in his heart. Geralt is right, he is honored to be the first to have this… honor. See, even just that little smile completely shuts down his every intelligent thought!

There's no possible way he could keep from grinning. “I’d love to! Thank you, Geralt. We _are_ quite a way from Novigrad, and I’d hate to have to travel all that land without my favorite grumpy witcher for company.” _Tone it down, idiot. You sound needier than usual._

The rest of the night passes in relative silence. Jaskier falls asleep without the weight of worrying where he will go on his shoulders, and he sleeps surprisingly well, even on the hard ground.

\--

They’re closer to Kaer Morhen than Novigrad, so this really was the logical choice. Still, Jaskier worries that he should have denied Geralt's offer.

There's a good chance the other witchers will either hate him the moment they meet, or decide to tolerate him only to despise him after two weeks of endless songwriting, questions, and nagging. Obviously, he’ll tone it down over the winter (“it” being everything that makes him annoying. which is to say, his whole personality), but it still might not be enough.

If they tire of him after the pass closes, will they be willing to put up with the entire rest of winter trapped with _him_? He likes to think that Geralt would defend him, but to be honest, he isn’t entirely sure _Geralt_ won't become resentful as well. Travelling across the Continent, able to leave him on a whim is very different from being trapped with him in an enclosed space for several months.

He’s already begun “toning it down,” though they still have about a week and a half to go. While they’re travelling, every time he opens his mouth to make yet another useless comment, he pinches his inner arm and focuses on the familiar aching of his feet.

His sketchbook has become more of a constant that usual. When refreshing the bruises on his arms doesn’t work, he slows his walking enough to write down his thoughts. He can’t write every word, since his mind races much too quickly for that, but he’s developed his own shorthand over the years.

And when _that_ doesn’t work, he turns to writing page after page of _don’t talk don’t talk it doesn’t matter shut up no one’s listening no one cares just don’t talk._

It’s depressingly effective.

\--

They reach their last stop before making the trek up the mountain a day early. They spend as much coin as they can spare on a packhorse and extra supplies. Jaskier performs in a tavern until his fingers and throat are raw, but he doesn’t earn back much of their spent coin. This close to winter, people are more reluctant to part with their money.

With Geralt still out getting the last couple things on their list, Jaskier has their room, with its modest bed and singular desk, to himself. Having no one around to annoy, he is free to speak aloud to his heart’s content. However, he doesn’t want to fall back into the habit of saying his every thought. He’s doing well so far, and the need to fill every silent moment has subsided enough that he hasn’t had to waste multiple pages on reminding himself to shut up in a few days.

Instead, he hums his newest song to himself and works on finishing his most recent drawing, the one of Geralt meditating. He's spent enough time staring that he has a clear image of Geralt's face in his mind, it’s just the hair that’s giving him trouble. No matter how many times he erases and redraws it, he still can't capture the soft, beautiful curve of the white strands over Geralt's shoulder.

He's erasing a good portion of it for the eighth or ninth time when he finally becomes aware that his eyes are dry and drooping, and the exhaustion of the past weeks of travel hits him like a charging chort. Heaviness drags his arms and head down, and he resolves to taking a quick nap before Geralt's return. He only has enough state of mind left to unlace and remove his shoes before falling half-heartedly on the cheap mattress.

\--

Jaskier wakes to Geralt's voice exclaiming, “What?”

He groans, just wanting to go back to sleep. “Wha’ ‘sit?” He gets no answer and blinks a few times to get his eyes to focus.

Geralt is on his knees beside the bed, looking guilty and confused and holding-

“Hey!” Jaskier quickly snatches his sketchbook back. It was open to one of the pages of reminders to keep quiet.

“What does that mean? Why do you have so many drawings of me?” Geralt obviously intended to stay silent, but his curiosity must have overwhelmed him.

_He knows he knows he knows he hates you he's going to leave you here to starve or freeze, whichever comes first-_

“Jaskier!”

He snaps out of the downward spiral, unable to meet Geralt's eye.

“Jaskier.”

Geralt's voice sounds almost tender now. But, that can't be right. There's no way-

“Will you look at me?”

How could he possibly deny his witcher such a simple request? Especially when said so softly, so pleadingly. He looks up at Geralt, still scared of what he will see.

His—possibly former—friend has one hand on the bed, braced to stand, but hesitating. His face is still a mix of guilt and confusion. “I’m sorry for invading your privacy. It was open on the floor and I only meant to pick it up, but the pages caught my eye. Why have you been acting so strange recently? I’d noticed, but those ramblings don’t make any sense. I wasn’t sure what to make of your actions, and I still don’t.”

He has absolutely no hope of fabricating a convincing lie on the spot, and Geralt probably won't be conveniently losing his memory at the moment. He sighs. “What does it look like? I’m trying to not talk as much. I don’t want to irritate your family into throwing me out in the dead of winter. You hardly put up with me as is, so…”

Geralt looks as if he'd just smacked him. “Why would- I promise you, no one is going to be kicking you out. And if they try, they’ll have to throw me out too.”

“But, you always tell me to shut up and it’s certainly no secret that I annoy you.” How does any of this make a lick of sense?

“You don’t annoy me. I almost never mean it when I tell you to be quiet. I thought you knew that. Do you- do you think I _hate_ you?” He sounds genuinely concerned, as if he actually cares what Jaskier thinks of him.

“I don’t blame you! Even if you didn’t hate me when we first met, everyone ends up ditching me or forcing me to leave eventually.” He laughs heartlessly.

Geralt visibly leans back, like he’ll catch whatever makes Jaskier so infuriating to deal with. “No, that’s not- I _don’t_ hate you.”

Well now Geralt’s just lying straight to his face. He smiles weakly, aiming for reassuring but most likely missing. “Really, I understand, it’s inevitable and-”

Warm lips press against his own and his eyes widen, crossing to see a furrow on Geralt's forehead. _Is this actually happening?_

Geralt leans back slowly, almost cautiously. “Would I kiss someone I hated?”

Jaskier has lost all words. For the first time in a long time, his mind is completely blank. He shakes his head.

“Was that alright?”

He nods so fast that a lock of hair tickles the corner of his eye.

Geralt's roughened fingers gently brush it back, lingering at his temple. He whispers, “Can I do it again?”

He's hardly finished the question by the time Jaskier grabs his shoulder and pulls him in.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! <3


End file.
